


Set Free Side Stories

by Sauri



Series: Set Free [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Humor, Slice of Life, Worldbuilding, a lot of OCs - Freeform, dothraki nonsense, dumpster of unrelated chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:40:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24854740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sauri/pseuds/Sauri
Summary: What the unimaginative title says.A collection of drabbles based on the AU of Set Free. They are absolutely not necessary to understand the main story, but simply a complement to flesh out some (OC) characters, moments and world building.
Series: Set Free [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1800919
Comments: 44
Kudos: 81





	1. Kuron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Kuron can't catch a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written to figure out what Dany wrote in her letter to Aemon and who is handling those precious letters.

Kuron shuddered, muttering a curse under his breath as he tucked his hands underneath his armpits. That silver haired khaleesi wasn't joking when she said this place would be cold, but he never thought it would be balls freezing cold. He felt like his nose and ears were about to fucking fall off. If the old man wrote an answer and he became their official hawk messenger, he would double his price. He sneezed.  _ Triple it. _

He could not imagine living like these men, and did not understand why they simply didn't leave. He'd rather die than swear an oath to spend the rest of his life in misery, surrounded by even more miserable cunts in this frigid hell. It had not been even a whole hour since he had arrived and he was already dreading staying for longer than a day. Thank fuck the sour lot did not make it too hard for him to find the maester, otherwise he'd rather just leave to collect the rest of his payment in Astapor. The little khaleesi couldn't doubt he came all the way here if he described the smell of this place. 

She had warned him of the northern's contempt towards outsiders, and of the dangers of his travel despite his light coloring. Kuron almost found it endearing. He could hardly be called a mere messenger, and usually took on much bloodier tasks than simply delivering a letter, but never had he met an employer concerned about his safety of all things. She could, of course, be simply worried about getting a response, but her eyes and words had seemed oddly genuine when warning him of the North's treachery. 

Honestly, it didn't surprise him. Closed off folks often felt superior to outsiders. Their way was the right way, and anything else would be wrong at best. He had seen it plenty of times in Essos, so he didn't see why it would be any different in Westeros. Weren't they descendents of essossi? Men were men, regardless of where they lived. All struggled to survive. The only difference was the lengths some were willing to go to climb above others.

Himself, for example. He knew he had parents, as every person had a pair, but he could not even begin to guess what had happened to his. Maybe they died, maybe they sold him, maybe they lost him. Either way, he had survived, and now he lived off the skills he had learnt out of necessity. He didn’t want much, didn’t have the will or the patience to climb up. He also didn’t like some of the things he had to do to keep afloat, but there wasn’t much point in dwelling over it.

This messenger nonsense had looked a lot like easy money when he heard about the khaleesi's knight asking for someone who knew the Common Tongue and who could fend for himself. In a place like Vaes Dothrak, it wasn't hard to find someone who met this standard, but the knight had chosen him for being the palest amongst the volunteers. Now, looking around at the frosty white faces in Castle Black, he sort of understood why. Their efforts were lost on him, though, when he decided to keep his colorful clothes, but, in his defense, anything would seem colorful amongst these people.

He should get some smelly pelts next time, maybe that would make him blend in.

"H-hi. I'm Sam. Maester Aemon sent me… sent me to fetch you to his quarters. Would… would you follow me, uh…"

Kuron looked to his side where a round boy stood staring nervously at him. White and pink, like a piglet, with brown hair and brown eyes. The beads of sweat rolling from his forehead and neck into his furs suddenly made the smell of this place make a lot of sense. 

"Kuron." He turned and nodded at the boy, taking care to keep his face neutral. "Lead on, Sam."

For being descendents of essossi, the westerosi sure were a peculiar folk. He knew the men brought to the wall were mostly murderers, thieves or rapists, so he could not understand what a little piglet like this Sam was doing here. The boy had given him a small relieved smile before turning on his heels and trotting back to where he came from, sneaking a few curious glances back at him. 

"I-It’s rather cold, isn't it?"

Kuron arched an eyebrow at that. He still had his hands tucked under his armpits and would violently shiver from time to time. His jaw was clenched in a hard line to avoid clattering teeth. "You grew up here?"

"What, in Castle Black? N-no, no one-"

"In the North, boy."

"Oh. N-no. I'm from the south. Although the whole Westeros is south when you're at the Wall, I suppose… The Reach, you know it? It was much warmer than here. Much greener as well."

"I’ve heard of it.”  _ Shit wine. _ “How did you end up in this frozen hellhole?"

The boy looked down at the stairs they were climbing, fidgeting anxiously before settling for a nervous smile. "I… I suppose I can be considered as a... bastard."

Kuron scoffed. More westerosi nonsense. It was none of his business, though, so he remained in silence as they climbed more stairs and crossed narrow and dark corridors until reaching an old wooden door, where the boy knocked twice before opening and gesturing for him to go inside.

Sitting near a fireplace was the oldest man Kuron had ever seen. All shriveled up skin and thinning hair the same color as the snow outside. He had nothing in common with the silver khaleesi, yet the old man reminded him of her regardless, with his kind smile and faded purple eyes. A blind old man, stuck in this place until he died… to live so long, was it a curse or a blessing?

"Maester Aemon, I imagine?"

"Indeed. I hear you have a letter for this old man? A private one at that. I must say I'm surprised." He smiled, arching his brows, before turning his head to where the round boy stood, "Sam, help our guest with a seat and ale.” His unseeing eyes rested somewhere over Kuron’s head. “I apologize for the taste of it, however. I wish I could say it grows on you, but that would be a rather sad lie."

The boy placed a bench near the fireplace for him, before handing him a mug with some foul smelling ale. He drank it and had to agree with the old man, it was worse than piss. Good thing he didn't have to endure it for long.

"Are you aware you have a… great… great niece in Essos?" He hoped he got that right. Just how old was this man?

The Maester's hand resting on top of a table grabbed its corner until his wrinkled bony fingers turned white. Whiter. Kuron had half a mind to unfold the old fingers before they broke by accident, when the old man's eyes focused on his chest as if he could see through it, his face carefully neutral.

"Daenerys… sent me a letter?"

Kuron removed the scrolled parchment from his vest, eyeing the boy who stood to the side clearly shocked, and decided to hand it over himself. He grabbed the hand attached to the table as lightly as he could before placing the scroll in it, the seal turned downwards to the old man's palm.

"The seal has a three headed dragon. I guess it's a symbol from your family? But it could be related to her three dragons."

"I-I’m sorry," Sam chuckled nervously, “I heard you saying dragons, but that can’t be right… Can it? They are extinct.” The boy looked at maester Aemon, distracted by the waxed seal. “...R-right?”

The round boy had a nasty habit of sweating when he was nervous, apparently, as new beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Even if he could understand the boy’s shock, it still disgusted him, but he kept his face aloof.

"They were. She birthed them after her wedding. Three of them. Black, green and gold, the size of fat sheep when I left." Kuron sat down, nestling as close to the fireplace as he could without burning himself. "Ferocious, meat eating sheep."

Maester Aemon ignored them as he stroked his fingers across the waxed seal, milky eyes turning glossy as his bottom lip trembled. Kuron turned his gaze towards the fire, his chest knotting up. He wondered if there would be a fireplace wherever they put him to sleep today. 

The old Maester gave the scroll to Sam, asking him to read it. Kuron reluctantly got up from his seat to give them privacy, but the old man had him stay.

"You carried this letter so far already. I will most likely have many questions after reading it, if you don't mind answering them."

He didn't think he'd be able to answer anything, but he  _ was _ curious about what she had written to someone she didn’t even know. As generous as she seemed to be, he doubted the silver khaleesi would let him hear the reply, so he might as well entertain himself while he could.

Sam unfurled the scroll and sat himself in another bench, hands trembling as his face contorted with nerves and excitement. He cleared his throat, then started.

_ "Dear uncle Aemon, I dreamt about you. _

_ An ancient white dragon perched atop a wall of ice, almost transparent amidst the falling snow. Its eyes were like sun bathed amethysts, tired and lonesome. _

_ My dream did not allow me to reach out for him, but my dream was also not lasting. I woke, and now I write to you in hope of finally tying our fates together." _

A tear rolled down the old man's face, and he did not bother to wipe or hide it. The Sam boy looked at him in sympathy, swallowed, and kept reading.

_ "There are so little of us left, uncle. I cannot imagine what you must have gone through as our family destroyed itself, with no little help from those who sought our power for themselves. Viserys suffered a great deal to raise me by himself when he was still a helpless child. It changed him. Made him become desperate enough to offer me in marriage to a dothraki khal. _

_ My husband is Khal Drogo, and he is the leader of the biggest khalasar to have roamed the grass sea. He was supposed to aid Viserys in retaking the throne, but you can imagine how well that went. As a rule, Dothraki don't trade. They gift as they see fit, and the Iron Throne isn’t a fitting gift in return for me, I’m afraid. _

_ You do not need to worry about me, however. Khal Drogo is as good to me as can be expected from a khal. I am not shared, and I carry his son now, so I'm secure and safe. My brother has also calmed down a great deal since the wedding, and he's getting closer to the good big brother he used to be.  _

_ Maybe you have heard rumors of it by now, but we have dragons again. Three of them."  _ The boy's voice rose to a higher pitch, incredulous and breathless. “Three of them! It’s really true, then?!”

“We heard no rumors of them, but it is possible too little time has gone since their birth.” The old man was not nearly as surprised as the boy, but his face was full of wonder, as if it never crossed his mind to doubt his niece’s words. “Go on, Sam. Continue.”

The boy kept reading on, slower. _ "The biggest one, and the one who is to be my ride when he gets big enough, is Drogon. His scales are black like coal, and his spikes and wings are a vivid, blood red. He's grumpy, proud, and fierce. The smallest and fastest one is also the sweetest and gentlest of them, named Rhaellon, after our mother. His scales are cream and gold, and Viserys is very likely to claim him when he grows bigger, if their nuzzling is anything to go by. The last, but not least important one, I named after you, uncle."  _ Sam looked at the old maester with wonder as he breathed out the dragon's name. _ "Aemaxes." _

Maester Aemon's mouth hung open in disbelief, and soon more tears came out from his unseeing eyes. Kuron was torn between finding it touching or uncomfortable. He shouldn’t have stayed, but going out wasn't really an option anymore. The old man wiped his face with a black sleeve and nodded for the boy to go on, his face contorted into an emotion Kuron couldn't name.

_ "His scales are a beautiful emerald, laced with bronze on his horns and wings. He's very feisty and always eager to prove himself. A bit cunning as well. I'm not sure if you two have any traits in common?"  _ Sam looked up again curious and doubting, but the maester simply smiled fondly while shaking his head.

_ "There's also my son. My human son. By the time this letter reaches you, he'll most likely be born. His name is Rhaego, after my mother and husband. I've also seen him in my dreams. He has copper skin like his father, but the hair and eyes of Valyria. He's strong and fierce, and will be raised to survive whatever fate throws at him. _

_ Our family grows, uncle. I wish you could see it. Even if we are far apart, we are not alone. You have us, just as we have you. _

_ I hope you can write back to us, Kuron will make sure to bring it back to my hands. I haven’t told Visrys about this letter in fear of it never reaching you and only hurting him further, but I am sure he would be thrilled to hear from you. _

_Also… I'm aware Jeor Mormont is the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. His son, Jorah Mormont, serves me."_ The boy's eyes widened in disbelief _. "He regrets his past actions, but I'm afraid he can't bring himself to write to his father. Northerns."_ Sam chuckled, and then explained she had crossed that last word. Maester Aemon smiled wistfully at that, and Sam continued, _"Please let his father know that his son is safe, regretful, and willing to right his wrongs. I cannot say too much on a letter, but he will have many opportunities to. We all make mistakes, but I believe what truly matters is how we make up for them._

_ Uncle, take care of yourself, and be safe. The dead are coming. Fire, dragonglass and valyrian steel are their true enemy. I wish I could bring you to me, to feel the sun's warmth in your skin, but I understand your oath. If there's ever a way, do not hesitate to come. We will always welcome you with open arms. _

_ With love, Daenerys" _

Sam curled the parchment with a frown and gave it back to the maester, who accepted it and rubbed a thin thumb over the broken seal. A helpless smile on his serene face as the silence prolonged amongst them, broken only by the scarce crackling of the burning logs. 

"You met her?"

Kuron swallowed another mouthful of the foul smelling ale, wishing he had been offered plain water instead. He remembered the faces of the silver khaleesi and her knight, who was probably the Lord Commander's son.

"I did. She's a small thing. And beautiful, with silver gold hair and purple eyes." He eyed the old maester's fond smile, "she has kind eyes. Not common around the dothraki. Reminds me a little of you, but I guess that's a given since you're family."

"And her brother?"

"I saw him from afar. Silver hair, purple eyes… doesn't talk much. He was either training or hanging with horses the few times we crossed paths. If it wasn't for the hair I wouldn't have noticed him." The letter wasn't much to go on from, but having grown in the streets himself he couldn't imagine what his life would be like if he had to feed and raise another child. But then again, he was born into nothing, he could probably manage. If he had been raised in a manse and forced to flee… he couldn't imagine it, but it made sense to sell the sister to get his things back.

Probably. It's not like he had a sister to compare.

The old man's face contorted in grief as he shook his head. He took a moment and a few breaths, then asked in a low voice, as if afraid to be heard, "her husband?"

Kuron looked at the flames, briefly wondering if all families worried like that for each other. He didn't think so.

"It's like what she said in the letter. Khal Drogo is a mighty and proud warrior. That his wife gave birth to dragons and the stallion who mounts the world is only more reason to make him stand above the other khals. He's probably her fiercest defender." He snickered, looking back at the maester, "he looks at her like she hung the moon in the sky. No need to concern yourself about him."

That was true. He didn't think it was love at all, and doubted such a thing even existed, but the khal was as smitten as a khal could be. His khaleesi was a fairly unconventional one by dothraki standards, but he defended her at every turn. Kuron wondered if the silver khaleesi had ever gone against him in anything. He doubted that too.

The old maester seemed somewhat relieved by his words, and the boy Sam opened his mouth with a frown, only to close it down again. He repeated the motion a few times, but in the end bit his lips, settling for defeated silence. The maester gestured for him to go on, making Kuron sit straighter on his bench, goosebumps unrelated to the cold forming on his skin.

"The stallion who mounts the world… is this about Daenerys' son?"

"Uh…" He coughed, clearing his throat, "yes, it's a prophecy… apparently this babe will grow up to unite all the khalasars into one and take on the world… or something." He shrugged, "at least is what the old crones say."

Maester Aemon frowned slightly at that. "And what does Daenerys think of this prophecy?"

Did this old man think he was a confidante of the khaleesi? How the fuck would he know what went on in her head? He thought back to all the chatter about the prophecy, and how Khal Drogo paraded around like a peacock after she had eaten that raw heart whole. Kuron had not seen her that day, but she always seemed rather unfazed about the speculation around her. Level headed but… amused? He frowned.

"She wouldn't speak her mind to someone she barely knows, maester. If I had to guess, I'd say it didn't get to her head at least." His thumb rubbed on the border of his mug. There were many rumours about her since she was, afterall, the mother of dragons. Some said she was foolishly softhearted, others said she bathed in blood to keep her beauty, or even that she was a dragon disguised as a woman. All nonsense. He remembered when she spoke to him, respectful, commanding and genuine. Kuron had been around for far too long to be wrong about her. "She may be kind, but is also shrewd. The care her khal bores for her isn't an accident." He eyed the maester, remembering the lines of her letter. "She's a survivor. Survivors usually don't care for vague words about the future."

The maester nodded, seemingly satisfied with Kuron's assessment of his niece. With his main concerns addressed, he went on to ask about Vaes Dothrak and the khalasars he had seen, then about his voyage until here. The boy Sam seemed fascinated about his every word, and only when he departed to his quarters for the night did the boy bombard him with questions about the dragons. There was no need to hold back on the maester's presence, though. It wasn't like he had seen them up close, just flying so far he could barely see their colors. 

He did, however, tell him the story about the men who tried to steal the dragons. All of them turned into human shaped charcoal, placed in the main plaza as a very obvious warning. He found some morbid pleasure in watching the body count grow as the days went on, only to stop when it reached a little under twenty. He added enough gore to scare the boy into silence, which greatly amused him.

After settling, Sam kept stalling by Kuron’s door, shifting his weight from one foot to another, fiddling with pudgy hands as his eyes darted from the floor, to the fireplace, to the window, back to the floor again. Kuron had half a mind to wait until the boy decided for himself whether or not he would talk, but his curiosity got the best of him.

“Out with it.”

“O-oh! Um. I’m not... “ He scratched his head, sheepish, sweating again. “About Daenerys’ letter… The end of it. Do you recall it?”

“Get to the point, boy.”

“R-right. Um…  _ the dead are coming _ , she said. Is this… Is this something normal to say in Essos? I mean, maester Aemon didn’t ask about it, so I wondered if that was the case, but it seemed oddly specific when sh-”

“I never heard anyone say that. It’s not normal, and I have no idea what she is going on about.”

“O-Oh…” He frowned, looking at the fire. “ _ Fire, dragonglass and valyrian steel are their true enemy.  _ It just… It seems like she  _ knows _ what she’s talking about. Like she’s… tipping us.”

Kuron shrugged. “It could be nonsense. She seems to dream a lot. There were rumors about how she dreamt of the birth of her dragons, and that’s how she knew how to hatch them. She clearly dreamt about her uncle...” That didn’t bode well.

“If all she dreams of comes true, then these  _ dead coming  _ could end up being true as well. Then  _ their true enemy _ would be the things that can kill… well, the dead. It  _ is  _ a tip.”

“Hold on. You can’t really believe dead people would what? Walk around? Even if her dreams are true, she didn’t dream about your maester, but an old dragon. It could mean anything. Her dead could be like ghosts of dead people harassing her in the dreams, and if she got rid of them with fire or by stabbing then it’s normal to think those can kill them. That’s a much more likely explanation than your  _ walking dead _ .”

“You don’t-” Sam stopped himself from whatever he was going to say, and sighed in defeat. “Maybe. You’re probably right. But this place… There’s something wrong here. And it’s worse at ni-”

A loud crash stopped Sam from finishing his sentence, and before he knew it, Kuron was already at his door, sword in hand, listening for further signs of struggle. He shouldn’t meddle, but if whatever it was got out of hand, he would need to get out or hide.

Sam didn’t share his misgivings, throwing the door open as more crashing sounds came from the end of the hall, where stairs led to a higher floor. The boy was whiter than milk, trembling with fear, but still scrambled past him in a panic,  _ Lord Commander _ falling from his lips as he chased upstairs. Kuron cursed. He shouldn’t meddle. Meddling never ended well for him. He had over a dozen scars that proved as much, and it would do him well to remind how he got every single one of them, but there was a shriek – Sam’s, no doubt – followed but a heavy landing sound – also him, for sure. Kuron cursed. Then cursed some more.

And ran upstairs.

He really should stick to his own rules.  _ No meddling.  _ How hard could it be? He had absolutely no business going against whatever  _ that _ was. None of these people meant anything to him, two of them he had never even  _ seen  _ and were most likely already dead anyway, if the pool of blood was anything to go by. There was nothing to save. Nothing to fight for. Nothing to risk his life for.

And those eerily blue eyes weren’t  _ human.  _

Whatever it was, he knew it shouldn’t live. It wasn’t meant to live. The thing lunged for him as if it wanted to claw his eyes out, oddly nimble and fast, but he evaded in half a spin, sword meeting its neck and burying itself halfway through in what should have  _ at least _ given it some pause. The thing acted as if the sword was a minor inconvenience, twisting itself as it tried to dig its nails inside his belly. Kuron evaded again, pulling his sword with him to what he hoped was a safe distance, and no blood came from the wound. 

_ Because it was meant to be dead.  _ He didn’t want to believe, but there was little choice now. The thing had a nauseating sweet smell of decay, ashen skin, bloodless wounds and those  _ fucking blue eyes _ . It chased after him relentlessly as he kept slipping away, making sure to stay as far as possible from the thing as he had no intention of being touched by it. He didn’t know what dragonglass was, and he certainly had no valyrian steel on him, so he would have to try his luck with fire. 

Annoyingly, there were no torches on the walls of the corridors. He needed to get inside one of the rooms, but despite chasing him as best as it could, the thing always stood between him and the only open door, as if it knew the only weapon able to kill it was inside. Fearless, skilless, tireless and with  _ some _ sense of self preservation. Beheading wouldn’t work as he somehow doubted the rest of the body would stop, but maybe…

He twisted where he stood and lunged towards it, grabbing one of its arms by the sleeve and pulling it towards him to chop it off. It came off fairly easily and  _ that _ gave the thing some pause, which he used to land a kick in its chest, making it fall onto the ground. Thing out of the way for a few seconds, he rushed into the room, jumping over what he hoped was a still alive Sam lying crumpled by the door, and threw the struggling arm directly in the fireplace. 

It fucking burst.

He would never dismiss anything the silver khaleesi ever said again. 

The thing came into the room, and this time he didn’t stall. Smoothly cutting off its other hand, he grabbed it by the collar and sent it to reunite with its arm in the fireplace. Both caught on fire as if the body had been doused in wine, and he decided the smell of a burnt rotten corpse was far worse than a fresher one. The best of all was definitely the one burned by dragon fire, as there was barely any smell at all. The thing and its arm soon turned to ashes, but the hand was still crawling on the floor. Gross.

Rushed steps and gasps sounded in the corridor outside, but he didn’t move, taking the time to look around him. The room was nicer than the maester’s, but with plenty of its furniture overturned and some blood on the walls and floor. Sam was still guarding the door, but the boy had either been knocked out or passed out from fear, there was no blood around him. A pair of feet peeked out from behind the desk by the corner, but before he took a step towards the body, three men in black came in, taking everything in and landing their eyes on him with a scowl.  _ Shit. _

The tallest of them, a grey haired man with small black eyes stepped forward, over Sam’s body, nose almost turning in distaste, and Kuron couldn’t be sure which of them had disgusted the man. It didn’t matter, though. Reality proved once more  _ why _ he shouldn’t meddle.

“ _ Arrest him _ .”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But Sauri, it did not happen like that or at that time!  
> ...As if I remember. 
> 
> There won't be a direct follow up on this, so:  
> Jeor and Sam are alive, two random dudes are dead. Kuron was arrested but then Maester Aemon got him out. Sam hurt his arm and Kuron had to stay for a week to get the letter (because it's private, not because no one else can write). Jeor wrote a note to Jorah.  
> Kuron says he will never be back (pff).


	2. Viserys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The targ siblings talk a bit before meeting Oberyn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably a bit repetitive if you've read Oberyn's chapter, but that's because it was written to get a feel of Dany and Vis mindset.

"You  _ are  _ aware they will try to convince you to take the throne, right?"

Viserys looked up from the cat on his lap, staring at his sister doubtfully. Both of them were lying on a pile of cushions on her balcony, watching the half moon make its way across the night sky. Dany had a lute on her lap, on which she mindlessly plucked a few idle notes or half a song, not fully committing to any melody. “Maybe. But you’re the one who holds the power, and it’s not like all your armies or the dragons would answer to me.”

She hummed in agreement. "Sure. But since they came, what they most likely need is a Targaryen to push upon the throne with their own spears. And  _ you _ are the rightful king." 

He sighed, returning his attention to Lady Kiwi and muttering, "it doesn't matter. I'm not going there."

Dany placed her hand flat on the strings, cutting the sound as she looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. "You have Rhaellon, Vis. Taking Westeros would be fairly easy with him."

He threw her a venomous stare. "You  _ know _ I can't ride him."

She raised her chin, undaunted. "For now. You are a dragon, Viserys. Hurt, but a dragon nonetheless. You will heal in time and take to the sky atop of Rhaellon. Our father doesn't define us anymore than our mother does." Her gaze grew harsh, "and I won't let you lick your wounds forever because of him."

He avoided her eyes, focusing on Lady Kiwi’s emerald ones. His hand stroked the thick brown fur on her back all the way to the end of her tail and back again. He muttered, trying to ignore the aggrieved tone in his voice, "regardless, I won't go to Westeros. If they really try to pit me against you it's only more reason to keep far away from that place."

"They might not see it as turning us against each other."

"Does it matter?” His voice rose. “Why would I want to go there? I'm not you, Dany. I'm not good and forgiving. I don't want to work to save those ungrateful bastards. I don't want to make their lives better." He huffed, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. "I won't deny I still want to take back what belongs to us. It makes my skin crawl to think about those damn stags living on the castles our ancestors built. Using the fortune and treasures of our House. To think about the lions walking free after murdering our family. I'd rather destroy all of it than let them prosper over our ashes. But if I take it back, if I sit on that shit throne, I'll have to rule. I'll have to worry about the realm. About saving their unworthy hides. And I can't. I don't care for the people who tried to murder us. I'd rather see them all dead. And if I do that, what sort of legacy do _I_ leave behind? Our name is tarnished enough as it is." He shook his head, determined. "No. I won't go. Westeros can rot for all I care."

Dany nodded her head, but remained silent, absorbing his words. The only sound between them came from a few idle notes from her lute.

Her notes slowly converged into a melody, and she played a song he had never heard from her before. It was nice, although melancholic. He relaxed in his pile of pillows while closing his eyes, gingerly stroking Lady Kiwi's ear.

After a long while, as the song gradually dissipated, Dany started in a light voice, "you know, it has been over 30 years for me. All my anger at our circumstances has long faded away, partly because of my own failure at reclaiming what is ours. But it  _ is  _ maddening, isn't it?" He faced her, and her eyebrows frowned slightly as she kept her gaze in the sky. "They destroyed our family, spat on our names, but had no qualms about using our legacy. About sitting on the throne our ancestors created and claiming sovereignty over the kingdoms the dragons unified."

Viserys threw her an unimpressed look. "You only just realized their hypocrisy?"

She threw a pillow at him, which he deflected.

"Does that mean you plan to reclaim it?"

She scoffed. "As if. I'm not as good and forgiving as you claim me to be, Vis. Although I do feel bad about the westerosi smallfolk, I won't abandon my people this time. They need me, and no one else will protect them in my place. Westeros will have to pray for their gods to save them, or save themselves this time."

He eyed her, not fully believing her words. "What about the wolf spawn? If he really regained his memories, you could get revenge on him."

She waved her hand, dispelling his idea. "I'm not wasting my time to find out. It doesn't matter, anyway." Her eyes narrowed, "he probably thought he was doing something honorable. I can only blame myself for trusting him so blindly after all the times he let me down."

"You  _ do _ have shit taste in men. From now on, Missandei and I should be consulted before you bring anyone to yo-"

This time, the pillow hit him square on the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it seems out of place? But in her second life Dany was very much alone, and decided to learn an instrument to play her sadness away. She tested a few, but decided string intruments were more to her taste.  
> I get myself all sad imagining her alone with Drogon playing songs full of grief.
> 
> I want to give one instrument to Viserys as well, but that... will wait for the right teacher.
> 
> As for which song she played? We can all pick our favorite, but I was listening to this while I wrote:  
> https://youtu.be/h0AAFhx3RmA


	3. Barristan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two months after Barri came out, outside of Astapor. Some sibling fluff, some worldbuilding and a drop of angst.

"You suck."

"I do  _ not _ suck!"

She did, but Barristan would never admit it to her face. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from chuckling at the siblings' quarreling. Although Daenerys treated him as family and never minded when he spoke out of turn, the same couldn't be said about Viserys, who always made a point to ignore him as best he could. Although he couldn’t blame the boy, he still tried to get a response from him, but the prince only gave a reaction when it involved their dead brother, and Barristan could never help but say a few more words despite knowing how much it angered him.

Prince Viserys had a habit to go out hunting at least twice every fortnight, and sometimes the queen would follow him. Their bond with the dothraki was stronger than he had thought it would be, considering the stark contrast from their origins, but after getting to know them better, Barristan could understand it well enough. Their little khalasar was a welcome change to all the politicking going on in the city, with their frank honesty and rather rudimentary way of fixing disagreements. It certainly was convenient for him to prove his worth through fighting, and although he had trouble with their language, they never treated him without respect. 

Still, every time they came out to hunt the same argument would follow.

"You can't hunt to save your life. You  _ do _ suck at archery."

"I can shoot perfectly well with a stationary target, maybe even better than you."

"Right, because anything you might want to kill will just sit still waiting for you to aim."

The queen scowled at her brother, but the tips of her ears became red. Viserys smirked at her and aimed upwards at the lost pheasant in the sky. Barristan did not have to look to know he would hit his target effortlessly, and kept his eyes on the sister. 

She was undeniably proud. 

Daenerys always made sure to hide it from her brother's eyes, however, and Barristan couldn't truly understand why. Both have gone through too much, but despite Viserys age, he was the one who hadn't been able to handle their hardship. She supported her brother in every way possible, and would let him do as he pleased, never demanding or expecting anything from him. When he had asked, she had told him the prince had been buried under the weight of their legacy, and she wanted him to experiment what it was like to live unburdened. Although Barristan hadn't seen them at their worst and had no way to compare, it seemed to work well so far, yet he couldn't help but be concerned about this approach in the future.

He hoped by then, the prince would be more willing to lend an ear to him.

Three children raced each other screaming to catch the fallen prey, and Viserys turned back to his sister with a stern frown. "You need to consider the wind and the trajectory of your target. If you don't get good at it while you're standing still, you'll never be able to shoot from Drogon's back."

She huffed with a pout, looking every inch like a wild child who had been told to mind their manners. Barristan averted his eyes, summoning all of his self control learned through years of experience to keep a straight face, but Rhakka and Jhogo did not share his struggles, both snickering freely at their khaleesi's shortcomings.

Daenerys sent them an annoyed glare which only made them start laughing louder, huffed once more and gestured for the kid holding the basket to release another bird. The boy gave her a doubtful glance but still obeyed, and soon another pheasant took flight.

Of course, when Viserys went on his own, he did actually hunt, and was very good at it. However, after his sister insisted on following him even after repeatedly spooking all the prey nearby, he had decided to bring their own target practices and have the dothraki children scramble to take the fallen ones. Needless to say, it had become somewhat of an event for them. Although they didn't starve, they still mostly survived on horse meat, and hunting was kept to a minimum so as to not unbalance the local wildlife. The pheasants collected by the children were shared, of course, but the one who caught it got to decide how and with whom. 

Daenerys, to her credit, wasn't a lost cause. Barristan had even suspected she sometimes missed on purpose to prolong the time her brother spent teaching her, but the joy when she managed to hit a target was too filled with relief for him to put any weight on that thought.

Barristan had once asked Rakharo why the dothraki weren't bothered by the fact that their Khaleesi was less than able at archery. The other warriors weren't afforded the same leniency, and it seemed odd to him that they wouldn't care about their leader's skills. Rakharo had looked as if he had heard a joke, and told him to face her with a whip. 

He had never been disarmed so fast.

Granted, he was taken by surprise, but her skill with the whip was astonishing. She could aim at small targets to either hit, lash or curl and drag it with little effort, the leathery string moving in ways he didn’t think were possible at all. The only downside was the weapon’s inherent impracticability, making it difficult for her to defend herself if it came to a close struggle or worse, a show of strength.

But that was why she had guards. Although, even if it came to it, after seeing her spars with the blade wives, he didn’t believe her enemy would be able to leave unscathed. Women were vicious and unbothered by honor, he had learned. Or rather, had been taught.

_ Honor is a privilege, _ his queen had told him,  _ only meant for those who didn’t have to struggle to survive,  _ and after mulling over her words, he realized she was right. Barristan was old. The amount of filth he had seen in his life wasn’t small, and it had made him cling to his honor as if it would set him apart and make him nobler and more righteous than everyone else. As if the dirt couldn’t touch him as long as he kept faithful to his vows. His honor and his position were tied together in mutual dependence, and the moment his righteousness became a thorn in the king’s eyes, he had been hastily dismissed from his position. And yet, how could it become like so if he were born as common folk? If he had been raised in hunger? If he had to choose between dying and stealing to survive? 

Of course, knowing all of this didn’t change anything for him. His honor was a part of him and it would remain so until his death, but Barristan doubted the queen even meant for him to change. If anything, she would want him to become aware of his own privilege and to not pass judgment based on a rather limited world view. His queen was broadminded, and he wanted to follow her lead where he could, otherwise he really wouldn’t be able to keep up with how she casually dreamt about the future. 

_ “Mine!” _

Barristan arched his eyebrows in mild surprise as he saw the pheasant falling from the sky not too far from them, and this time all of the children ran for it screaming at the top of their lungs as if their lives depended on it. The same kind of bird, when shot by their khaleesi was still more special then the others. Of course, most of it had to do with the queen forbidding them from fighting each other over it, and awarding some fruits to the one who managed to catch it without hurting others.

The queen wiggled her eyebrows at her brother in mock taunting, chin proudly raised as if daring him to repeat his words from before, causing Viserys to roll his eyes, yet he was unable to keep the corner of his lips from bending upwards.

She nudged her silver towards him, refusing to let him off. “Come on, big brother. Where’s my praise? You can’t treat your words as gold.”

He gave her a fairly unimpressed look, sighing in defeat as he raised a hand towards her head. Before it reached its target, though, it staggered a little and ended on the queen’s shoulder in an awkward pat. Daenerys' gaze moved from her shoulder to her uncomfortable brother, and before he could remove the hand completely, she grasped his wrist, guiding the hand to the top of her head. She whispered some words to her brother in High Valyrian, too low for him to understand, but whatever their meaning, it caused the prince to relax and pat her twice in the head with a faint smile on his lips. His eyes carried a myriad of emotions, but Barristan averted his gaze before he could distinguish them, not wanting to further intrude in their moment. 

Although he wasn’t private to the details, he knew there was a rift in their relationship that was hard to overcome. For it to get to the point where Viserys could sell his sister for an army, he could not imagine how far apart they had fallen. While Barristan being there for them certainly wouldn’t have fixed all of their problems, it also wouldn’t have let their situation become so bleak.

Regardless, there was no point in wondering about what if’s. He was here now, and this time would only leave them when his heart ceased beating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally found a place to show a little of Dany's skills!! This shit just doesn't come up in the main fic.
> 
> I didn't want Ser Barristan to hear what Dany said because her words were meant for Viserys alone, but as we're never coming back to this particular moment... She said "No matter what, I will always be your little sister, and you will always be my big brother."  
> I think by now we can all guess some of what Vis is feeling at that moment.  
> Ugh I want to cuddle them.


	4. Dany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post birth, Rhaego meets his brothers. 80% fluff. Drogo shows up very briefly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dragon size: same as that episode where Dany sits in a tent with a white dress (looking like a fcking goddess) where... the Second Sons (?) come talk to her. I don't remember which city she was about to conquer, sorry.   
> That's pretty dog-sized, right?

_ "Moon of my life, they're dragons." _

Dany did not raise her eyes from the bundle in her arms. She couldn't. 

She had seen and lived through things others couldn't even dream of, yet nothing could ever come close to the feeling of holding her own child close to her heart. Of feeling his warmth, seeing his little movements and hearing his soft cries. She didn't think it was possible to grow tired of looking at him. From time to time she would doubt herself, thinking it was all a dream and she would once more wake in a cold bed completely alone, but then her finger would brush over Rhaego's still wrinkled brow, and the feeling of skin on skin was so real she would convince herself once more that she was awake. It was all real. She was a mother.

A mother with a human, healthy son.

Nothing could ever be more magical than this.

Even so, an entire night had passed since Rhaego had come, and she could feel his older brothers growing restless outside. The first time she had given birth the pain had blinded her to everything around her, but this time she knew for certain it had been a chaotic inferno. Somehow her pain was leaked to Drogon, causing him to further influence his brothers' already unsettled mood to the point where they would burn anyone who came near her tent. Thankfully the midwife was already inside, and despite her screams, their instinct was to defend her from outsiders rather than burn her tent and try to whisk her away. 

_ "They are his brothers, my sun and stars. They will never harm him. I know it." _

Drogo had a rare trace of unease in his eyes, unwilling to risk the safety of his son, and she once more wondered how he had grown to be so different from the other dothraki.

Usually, the dothraki men only claimed grown boys who could already run, and didn't care whether it was their seed or not. If they raised it, it was theirs. Of course,  _ raising _ only meant better food and watching over their training. If the boy grew to be unremarkable, then it was only one of many, but if they proved to be above others, then they could carry their father's name.

Yet Drogo had specifically chosen her as his bride for her Valyrian blood and never shared her to make sure the babe in her stomach belonged to him. She knew now Illyrio had managed to persuade her husband with talks of bloodline, but it would never have worked if Drogo didn’t already have the intention of becoming more than his peers. 

She wasn’t sure what to make of her fate. It was filled with pain, yet at the points where she could easily break from despair, there were small mercies to help her keep her life. Had Drogo been the same as other khals, she didn’t think her past self would have been able to last more than a few months. 

But there was no point in thinking about it. Drogo had given her Rhaego, and that was enough.

Torn between pride and unwillingness, Drogo got up from the bed to give her space, gesturing for the maids to open the curtains from the entrance and let her children in. Although he admired the dragons and had a special fondness for Drogon, her husband never tried to approach them out of respect and awe for magical creatures. In this aspect, he wasn’t any different from the other dothraki. 

Aemaxes tried to fly in, only to be pulled by his tail by Drogon. When he started to screech in complaint, Drogon climbed over him, pressing him to the ground with a hiss in warning. As the two kept tangled at the entrance, Rhaellon glided in, landing smoothly two steps from the bed and raising his neck to look curiously at the bundle in her arms. His nostrils flared twice, taking in the smell, and his head tilted to the side even more intrigued at the bundle. She couldn’t help but giggle at his reaction, raising one hand towards him.

_ “Come here, sweetling. Come meet your little brother.” _

He came closer, rubbing his head against her hand while keeping his eyes glued to the bundle. Rhaellon’s movements were careful, as if he knew the babe was frail, and she lowered the arm supporting Rhaego so that he could be easily seen. From the corner of her eye, she could see Drogon had properly subdued Aemaxes and gotten off him, and both approached the bed slowly and cautiously. Her cheeks were almost hurting from smiling.

_ “Rhaellon, Aemaxes, Drogon. Say hello to your little brother, Rhaego.” _

The moment she closed her mouth, her son opened his eyes. He looked at her groggily, then at the dragons, and his sleepiness soon receded. The violet eyes went from one dragon to the next and then back without any reaction, and all three dragons stared at him as if not fully comprehending what they were looking at. Rhaellon twisted his head from one side to another, Aemaxes lowered his to sniff at him closer, and Drogon kept still, looking somewhat unhappy, but he didn’t share his thoughts with her even after probing.

Rhaego struggled a little and one arm escaped from his covers, gesturing wildly above him before Aemaxes lowered his head even further, curious about the tiny hand. Rhaego hit him twice before settling his fist on Aemaxes’ nuzzle, and Rhaellon copied his brother’s moves, closely sniffing at her son’s little hand and then staring at it. There was a little recognition in their eyes, and Drogon wanted her to unwrap Rhaego.

She almost rolled her eyes when she understood why they were so confused, but still complied. She laid her son on the bed and gently uncovered him, letting him spread out his four little limbs. Finally, her silly children chirped excitedly at their new  _ tiny human _ , and even Drogon stole a few more curious glances at Rhaego before looking at her as if defending himself.

_ Smells human, didn’t look human. _

Dany threw an unimpressed look at him. She clearly saw the confusion underneath his unhappiness. So old yet he couldn’t tell what a babe looked like without uncovering him. But she let him off on account of his protectiveness. The sour mood wasn’t directed at her son, but rather at how frail the human body was.  _ So much pain for such a little thing _ , Drogon simply couldn’t understand it and his contempt at humans rose once more. 

She thought about telling him the birth had been fairly easy and fast if compared to most women, but decided against it.

Rhaego didn’t really care for their chirps, and began dozing off again. She pulled his wraps back and laid down next to him, raising one arm to pat her children’s heads, and Drogon finally joined his brothers by the bed.

_ “Your little brother is still small, and needs to be protected. All of you have to grow big and strong, so that our family can always be whole.” _

They chirped once more in agreement, and her chest warmed up, a content smile permanently fixed on her lips. Her eyelids suddenly felt too heavy to lift, and she tried to blink away her tiredness, but it was useless. Letting her eyes rest, she attempted to speak once more but her lips couldn’t form proper words. Her whole body felt soft and heavy as she slowly drifted into a deep slumber.

_ I love you, my children. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a stupidily hard time with the structure of the next chapters in the main fic, so I'm offering this as a little treat while I figure it out. I hope it was fluff enough!


End file.
